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Phil gets the note on Tuesday afternoon.
“Agent Barton has been suspended from his current mission and is currently in custody at SHIELD department 3 (Southern USA). Up to this point, he has collected three write-ups for insubordination, four oral and two written reprimands for disorderly behaviour and one official warning about disobeying orders in the field in the last four months alone. Records show a recent increase in incidents of this kind, with the notable exception of operations under command of Agent Coulson. It is recommended to investigate whether an involvement of Agent Coulson at this point could be beneficial to Agent Barton’s performance as otherwise according to Rule GC 34b the agent in question will be dishonorly discharged and put on to trial for hinderance of official proceedings and sabotage.”
The mail was forwarded to him by Fury himself, with the subject line reading “Goddammit, get your shit together, motherfuckers.”
Phil sits back in his chair, taps his pen against his lips and thinks for a while. Okay, so Barton and he share some UST. Natasha has (on multiple occasions) tried to force them on a date. Barton’s terrible behaviour might actually be a result of the ongoing frustration from trying and failing to get into Phil’s pants. Phil's main hang-up so far has been the difference in power and clearance levels - this is why he has recommended for Barton to be assigned missions separately from himself to get him higher up in the ranks. He didn’t expect Barton to take the change as possibly a rejection and go on a if not self- then at least career destructive spree.
Fuck.
On the other hand, he now has the official permission from the director of SHIELD to follow his desires.
...Yay.
Phil rubs the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. Being in holding though means that Barton has only to put one toe out of line and he’s out. Knowing the man, he’ll probably somersault over the line at the first opportunity. Which will be the ridiculous formal test on SHIELD’s rules and regulations. Phil still has no idea who came up with that (probably the same complete lunatic who was in charge of designing the rest of Rules&Regs). If Barton passes, he gets another reprimand and forced leave for a few days or weeks maybe. If he fails, he’s out.
Phil leans forward again, drums his fingers on his mouse and then decidedly opens a new mail and types a few sentences. The (stupid motherfucking) test will approximately be at the end of the week, but Phil has to make sure. He also has to formally agree to coach Barton (the idiot, who takes pride in never ever having even looked into a handbook. His standard copy gets used as a coaster for his coffee mug when he sits on the bed to read or watch a movie).
The good thing is, he has a somewhat unusual idea how he’ll get Barton to pay attention. After all, Phil has been around and his dear old friend Eliza recently took part in an art project and... yeah.
Dear Lord, the things he does for … Barton (love).
***
Clint gets the news that Coulson will coach him the same evening. He nods and lies back on the bed in the cell and tries very hard not to think anything. The last weeks have been... exhausting. When they’re close, Coulson is defintely flirting with him, and flirting hard. At the same time, he had Clint signed up for fast-track promotion - which means less time together. So what is this? Is Clint not good enough for Coulson as a normal agent? Does he just pretend so that Clint does what he’s told? If that’s the case - Clint will-- he will-- won’t-- Won’t.
Not this time.
Not again.
After breakfast the next morning, he’s led to a small empty office. There’s nothing in it besides an chair, a desk, an empty filing cabinet and for some obscure reason, a bowl shaped like a swan with three bright green juggling balls in it.
A minute later, an unfamiliar agent enters and places a standard SHIELD handbook on the table. Next to it, she puts down, in order: a pen, a legal pad and a tablet computer. She also informs him that he may use the next hours and days to study, should he wish to. Agent Coulson unfortunately won’t be able to fly down to Texas for the time being, but has send a video file with instructions (which he will find on the tablet computer) and guidance for his studies. Clint will be locked in in this office, but not under surveillance. Should he need something, there is an app on the tablet to contact an agent in charge.
The woman suddenly grins at him, digs into a pocket of her combat pants and drops a half-full tube of lotion on the table.
“Have fun.”
She winks and turns without another word to follow her colleague out.
The door closes, the lock clicks and Clint is left alone, bewildered. The hell??
He dicks around for maybe half an hour - checks all nooks and crannies in the small room, realizes that there really isn’t any surveillance, not even a single bug, folds a paper plane from an old memo that was still in the second to last drawer of the cabinet and finally drops down on the chair.
“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles to himself and drags over the tablet. Clint fiddles around with it for a moment to get it to stay propped up across from him and then carefully pokes at the icon of a little movie reel, named “chapter one”.
The video opens on full-screen mode and Clint has to smile for a second. It’s a black and white video of Coulson sitting behind a white desk, black suit blending into the dark background, the equally black tie and white shirt a stark contrast. The man has both arms resting on the table, hands flat on the tabletop, with the SHIELD handbook resting between them.
“Agent Barton.”
The sound is surprisingly good and Clint feels himself automatically straighten in his chair.
God fucking dammit, it’s like he has been conditioned.
“Today we will cover the first of the six parts of the official SHIELD handbook of Rules and Regulations. I expect you to pay attention and study hard. Now open your book and listen to me while I read.”
Coulson’s voice is completely flat and all business, his face as blank as humanly possible.
He actually does start to read the first chapter, voice bland. Clint stares, blinks and after a moment just shakes his head. He can’t believe it. This is possibly the worst teaching method in the history of ever. He still grabs the book though and starts to read along. Maybe there’s a trick or something. Coulson is a sneaky bastard.
Clint looks up confused the first time Coulson takes an unusually deep breath before continuing to read on. The next time it happens (a few moments later) he narrows his eyes and focuses on the man, but nothing seems irregular, out of the normal.
Then Coulson hesitates completely randomly in the middle of a sentence and Clint abandons his own book to just watch. What the fuck...?
About a minute later, it has happened again twice. Coulson actually stops in the middle of a sentence to take a stuttering breath. He also starts to twist on the chair, minutely shifting around only to stop again, muscles tensed, fingers spread over pages and tabletop.
Clint has no idea what the fuck is going on there (is Coulson sick?) until the agent moves around again and there is a buzzing sound, nearly inaudible. Coulson’s voice has gone all husky, his reading gone uneven and occasionally shaky.
It can’t be.
Then Coulson flat out moans, his fingers clenching, the muscles in his arms tight.
A heartbeat later he reads on, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, as if Clint isn’t sitting there, glued to the screen, eyes the size of saucers.
Coulson continues to read, although the interruption get progressively worse, no, better.
At one point, he has to stop completely, rubs one hand over his neck and face.
Another time, his eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward slightly, hissing out a breath (there's that buzzing noise again).
His left hand grips the edge of the desk hard enough to make the wood creak, only to let go again and aimlessly slide over the flat tabletop.
And the moaning.
Dear god, the moaning.
Coulson by now can barely get through a sentence without interruption, without stuttering, without biting his lip and leaning back in his chair, baring his neck. He has actually loosened his tie; his hair is a mess from all the times he has run his fingers through it, all the times he has gripped it to keep control.
Some very distant part of Clint’s brain - possibly the last few cells that haven’t died from lack of blood-flow - wonders what the man would look like in colour, if the subtle shades in the video are a trick of the light or actual blushing.
One of Coulson’s hands drifts to the edge of the table, vanishes underneath and Clint actually shouts at the screen: “Don’t you dare!”
This is his show and he wants every single thing he can get, even if it’s only Coulson’s hands gripping the book so hard the pages crumple. As if he heard him, Coulson brings his hand back up, bites on a knuckle.
He’s gone now, utterly gone.
His arms shake as he drags his fingers, grasping for purchase over the table. His eyes are squeezed shut, every muscles is tensed.
His final moan is the most pornographic sound Clint has ever, ever, ever heard.
When it’s over, Coulson slumps forward, drops his head on the desk and just lies there for a heartbeat. Then he sits up again, looking loose and far more relaxed than ever. He actually smiles, closes the (somewhat worse for wear) handbook, puts his hands next to it and looks directly at the camera.
“This was chapter one. You will get the next video for chapter two tomorrow morning. I expect you to study intensely, Agent Barton, so that you will pass the test next week. I wish to keep you.”
Coulson stares at Clint for a few more seconds, before his eyes drift off to the side, to someone off-camera.
“Good?”
Clint hears faint giggling and a female voice that says “Fantastic”, before the screen goes black and then switches back to the main menu. It’s Clint’s turn to slump on the table. After a minute, he weakly scrabbles for the tube of lotion the other agent left behind earlier.
Motherfucking fuck.
***
There’s six days until the test and six main chapters to the handbook. The next Tuesday, Clint is led to a different office and sat down to take the official test. He passes with flying colours and even spots the one intentional fault in the questions and two unintentional ones.
He’s send back to SHIELD headquarters after and told to report to Director Fury first (his security clearance was increased. Also, Fury looks at him funny) and to his now primary handler slash colleague Agent Philip Coulson second.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” he says, when he has entered Coulson’s office and stands at rest in front of the desk.
“Welcome back, Agent Barton.”
Coulson leans back in his chair, twirling a pen around his fingers. “Everything gone well?”
“Excellent, sir. Thank you very much for your tutoring. It was very... stimulating.”
Turns out, Coulson does blush, at least a little bit, high on the cheeks and at the tips of his ears.
“Is that so?”
“Positive, sir. Although I still have some question, which maybe you could help me resolve, sir.”
Coulson drops the pen back on the desk.
“Could I? Which chapters do you have trouble with then, Agent Barton?”
Clint grins, broad and filthy and indescribably happy.
“One through six, sir. We should repeat those. Private lessons would be nice.”
Coulson smiles.
“Sounds like a plan.”